“Confessed!  Betrayed!” he faltered.  Then he whirled like a maniac upon his little coterie of followers.  “Vile traitor!” he shrieked, “I will drink your heart’s blood!”

With a howl he leaped toward one of the men, a darkfaced nobleman named Berrowag.  The latter evaded him and rushed toward the door, crying: 

“It is a lie! a lie!  He has tricked you!  I did not confess!”

The Prince was seized by his friends, struggling and cursing.  A peculiar smile lit up the face of Harry Anguish.

“I repeat, he is the assassin!”

Gabriel broke from the detaining hands and drawing a revolver, rushed for the door.

“Out of the way!  I will not be taken alive!”

Allode met him at the curtains and grasped him in his powerful arms, Baron Dangloss and others tearing the weapon from his hand.  The utmost confusion reigned—­women screaming, men shouting—­and above all could be heard the howls of the accused Prince.

“Let me go!  Curse you!  Curse you!  I will not surrender!  Let me kill that traitor!  Let me at him!” Berrowag had been seized by willing hands, and the two men glared at each other, one crazy with rage, the other shrinking with fear.

Dangloss and Allode half carried, half dragged the Prince forward.  As he neared Bolaroz and the Princess he collapsed and became a trembling, moaning suppliant for mercy.  Anguish’s accusation had struck home.

“Prince Bolaroz, I trust you will not object if the Princess Yetive substitutes the true assassin for the man named in your promise to Graustark,” said Anguish, dramatically.  Bolaroz, as if coming from a dream, turned and knelt before the throne.

“Most adorable Yetive,” he said; “I sue for pardon.  I bow low and lay my open heart before the truest woman in the world.”  He kissed the black lace hem of her gown and arose.  “I am your friend and ally; Axphain and Graustark will live no more with hatred in their hearts.  From you I have learned a lesson in justice and constancy.”

Prince Gabriel was raving like a madman as the officers hurried him and Berrowag from the room.  A shout went up from those assembled.  Its echo, reaching the halls, then the gardens, was finally taken up by the waiting masses beyond the gates.  The news flew like wild-fire.  Rejoicing, such as had never been known, shook Edelweiss until the monks on the mountain looked down in wonder.

After the dazed and happy throng about the throne had heaped its expressions of love and devotion upon the radiant Princess a single figure knelt in subjection, just as she was preparing to depart.  It was the Duke of Mizrox.

“Your Royal Highness, Mizrox is ready to pay his forfeit.  My life is yours,” he said, calmly.  She did not comprehend until her uncle reminded her of the oath Mizrox had taken the morning after the murder.

“He swore, on his life, that you killed Lorenz,” she said, turning to Lorry.